


Hot Springs and Hellfire

by fantasticallyobscure



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Aziraphale has a solution, Crowley's feeling the chill, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff, M/M, some Feelings raise their heads, that is NOT smut!, the Husbands are going to Iceland, the country not the shop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:42:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22273516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasticallyobscure/pseuds/fantasticallyobscure
Summary: “The thing is- I’m a demon, yes?”“We had come to that conclusion a while ago, dear.”Crowley made a face. Aziraphale ignored it.“So, naturally, there are a few…demony, demon-related- things I have to take care of once in a while.”***Demons need a bit of hellfire every now and then to keep them nice and toasty. Crowley's running a bit low post-non-apocalypse but he really didn't want to have this conversation. Now his angel has *ideas* and it looks like Crowley's along for the ride.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 126





	1. How To Talk To Your Husband About Bathtime

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-GO, newly established relationship. There...is really not a lot of plot to this at all, just them being them. 
> 
> Next chapter up soon feat. a trip to Iceland as an excuse for my own reminiscence.

“Angel?”

There was a soft grunt of vague acknowledgement that could have meant anything from ‘Yes I’m very interested please continue’ to ‘Please be quiet and depart at once from my presence’. Crowley slunk a bit closer to the ever so slightly dusty lump of angel buried under tartan and blankets and paper (which for all he knew could have been bloody tartan too).

“Well. You see- the thing is-” 

He was waffling. Dithering. Came of six thousand years around a champion ditherer. _Human speech is definitely one of ours_.

There might have been an eyebrow flicker. Didn’t matter – Aziraphale would wait him out with infinite(ly annoying) patience and some part of him was usually listening to what was happening around him regardless of whether he’d ever admit it.

“I’m thinking of- of popping away for a bit. Maybe like a week? Got…stuff. To do.”

The lump stilled. You’d think it hadn’t been moving before, but this was _angel_ levels of stillness where even the dust sort of froze in its tracks. An eyebrow raised fully, slowly, followed by the rest of Aziraphale’s head. 

_How can he look_ shiny _sitting there covered in dust?_

“’S’not for long! Just a quick…jaunt. Be back before you’ve moved from your dust pile probably.” 

Aziraphale blinked.

“Just- wanted to let you know.” 

Now he felt a bit stupid. _Anthony J. Crowley, everyone – original Tempter and smooth-talker_. He was tempted to freeze time just so he could go bang his head off the nearest bookshelf.

“-going?”

“Sorry?” Ah. Not paying attention.

“I said, where are you going then?”

Crowley’s throat made several noises without his permission. 

“Location’s not, ah, settled just yet. Still thinking.” 

He’d begun to wander about a bit in an attempt to look unconcerned and maybe to loosen the words cluttering up his chest.

“Crowley, would you come and sit down please?”

Aziraphale was frowning a bit, but more in a ‘you’re going to knock those books over if you don’t control your limbs dear’ way than in true displeasure. Crowley glanced at the sofas.

“And ruin your Dust Chic aesthetic, angel?”

With an eye roll and a quick snap the dust had gone (probably to occupy the nearest window and bar the door against intruders). The lump had shrunk to a more usual, Aziraphaley shape. Crowley gave in and launched himself at the opposite sofa.

“Now what is all this about, my dear?”

“The thing is- I’m a demon, yes?”

“We had come to that conclusion a while ago, dear.”

Crowley made a face. Aziraphale ignored it.

“So, naturally, there are a few…demony, demon-related- _things_ I have to take care of once in a while.”

“And one of these…things…has come up now has it?” A worried look crossed Aziraphale’s face. “Is it- have you heard from- Downstairs?” 

Crowley had a little burst of joy at the fact that he no longer referred to Hell as ‘your people’ and reached out to squeeze the angel’s hand.

“No, no, nothing like that. This is more of a…biological thing I suppose.”

The little furrow in Aziraphale’s brow returned and he flicked his eyes a bit pointedly over Crowley’s corporation.

“Fuck’s sake! Not like that, angel!”

“Oh good. I had rather thought we were doing alright in that regard.”

“Positively spiffing,” he imitated with a wink, just to see that lovely flush appear on his angel’s cheeks.

“Oh, behave. So what is the issue then? Are you alright my dear?”

Crowley was surely less than alright under the full force of Aziraphale’s ‘loving worry’ face. A lesser demon would have shrivelled on sight.

“Not a big deal angel. Nothing to worry about.”

“The last time you said that my bookshop ended up on _insta-snap_ and people were draping themselves all over my shelves.”

Crowley was absolutely not going to touch that one, as he still couldn’t regret anything. Getting to see Aziraphale go full bastard and kick some obnoxious influencers out the door while giving them a stern lecture reminiscent of an old school marm was one of his most prized memories. And he was not going to break over this. He was a steel trap. 

Aziraphale continued to stare. 

“FINE! Fine! If you must know _Ineedtotakeabath_.” Something, something, all things break in the end.

“English, dear.” The school marm was back, though prissier. Hell’s rusty bells, why did he find that attractive.

“I need to take a bath!” 

In no way – at all – was Crowley sulking back into the sofa cushions.

“Yes, I thought that’s what you said.” 

Aziraphale looked as if he was one step away from sniffing him. Crowley responded with a sound he might have learned from a highly strung fifteen-year-old (He didn’t. Younger generations may in fact have picked it up from him.)

“And no, before you ask, this isn’t a) a general hygiene problem, or b) one that can be solved by the tub upstairs.”

“Is it a particular bath you’re looking for then?”

Crowley sighed (in a slightly more adult fashion).

“Hellfire. I need- hellfire. ‘S a thing.”

“Oh. I see.” Aziraphale merely looked as if he’d told him he didn’t much like bath bombs and was in fact much more partial to a nice bubble bath. Bloody angels. Well, maybe just this one angel. “Probably not the sort of thing one can do in a regular tub then.”

“Happens every hundred years or so – bit like a top up of the old fires of damnation.”

Now Aziraphale looked a bit concerned.

“Does it hurt?”

“Me? Nah. Feels kinda toasty to be honest, gets right down in there. I thought I’d be alright after taking a nip in your skin but it didn’t really help my own corporation.”

Aziraphale’s face was having a bit of a journey. Crowley waited.

“Ohhh, yes and I imagine it would be even more pleasant for you with your nature.” He was smiling, the absolute loaf-head.

“That’s me, bloody big snake.” Crowley was grinning back in spite of himself.

“So _that’s_ why you’ve been so fidgety and stealing all my blankets! You’re cold! Oh, darling, why didn’t you say?”

Crowley snorted. “Yeah, makes for great pillow talk, that. _Do you mind if I cocoon myself in here? Fires of hell are running a bit low you know_.”

“That’s enough of that. I know perfectly well who and what you are and I love you entirely.”

Crowley made a noise that vaguely amounted to a smushed _loveyoutoo_ and pulled himself together.

“Right, well. I used to just nip Downstairs when I felt it coming on – safest way, if not really ideal. But now…”

“Yes, I’d imagine that’s not an option.” Aziraphale had shuffled over onto the same couch as Crowley and was surreptitiously tucking a tartan blanket around him. It was one of the good ones, if hideous. “Can you, well, D.I.Y. it, for want of a better word?”

_If you cannot access the fires of Hell due to treason, self-conjured is fine._

“Yes I can make my own hellfire, angel. I just need somewhere safe to put it so it doesn’t burn the whole place down.” 

His cold-blooded nature was getting the better of him and he found himself now curled half-way onto Aziraphale’s lap. _Mmm angel soft and warm_. 

“There’s a few spots on earth where it pops up through the ground a bit, but the best ones are in Iceland ‘cause there’s nobody about to look at you. I’d bloody freeze my bollocks off before I got anywhere near the fire.”

There was a wiggle under him.

“Oh, but not if I helped you and kept you warm on the way!”

“You are absolutely not going within a hundred miles of a hellfire spout Aziraphale.”

“I don’t have to go right up to it. I can just wrap you up and maintain your temperature. And then I can just…watch from a distance.”

“Yeah, from London.” This was the trouble with _talking_ , particularly with an angel that always got his way. “That eager to watch me take a bath, angel?” 

“I said behave, and you’re trying to distract me.”

“No. Fucking. Fire.”

“Crowley.”

Aziraphale nudged Crowley’s head out from where it had been burrowing into his soft shoulder and stroked a thumb gently over a cheekbone, an eyebrow, the line of his nose. 

“It’s alright darling.”

“Don’t know that.” Crowley knew his face was giving everything away, but the very thought of his angel near something that could _end_ him… One spark gone wrong and it would be the bookshop all over again but for real this time.

“I promise you, promise you faithfully, that I have absolutely no intention of being parted from you, now or ever. I mean, unless that’s what you-”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“But I can _help_ Crowley. I swear I would follow every precaution and would be perfectly safe.”

The worst part was that he had a point. The colder Crowley got the less focus he was able to hold so he wouldn’t be able to miracle his temperature successfully.

“You could warm up my clothes for me.”

“Yes, but it would be better if I was there to make sure there were no issues and you didn’t start getting too cold again.”

Crowley didn’t answer. Aziraphale let him be for a few minutes, then he felt a nudge and the angel wiggling in place. He had had the pleasure of watching that wiggle for thousands of years but there was certainly something to be said for getting up close and personal with it. He sighed in pretend annoyance.

“What?”

“We could make a trip of it! See the old parliament and the whales!” Crowley filled in ‘and the manuscripts’. “Oh, and there’s a delightful little coffee shop in Reykjavík, hidden away down a flight of steps.”

“Puffins. ‘S full of puffins.”

“Yes! We could go visit them and the whales after you have your bath. And then have some nice coffee and cake in where it’s warm.”

Crowley had begun to shake in silent laughter. His angel was ridiculous and wonderful and honestly he thought he might even enjoy a trip to the frozen North if it was with him. 

“Only if you get your kit off and go swimming in the hot springs with me.”

Another wiggle. “I think that could be arranged.”

“And you do as I bloody well say. ‘S fuckin’ dangerous, angel.” Crowley squeezed him with all four limbs. Aziraphale didn’t even flinch.

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me you old serpent.”

“Damn.”

They laughed. He was feeling a little warmer already, truth be told.

“Right. Bless it, fine, we’ll take a _little trip_ to Iceland then.”

“As you say darling.” The bastard was smiling.

There was no immediate rush, though. Plenty of time to pull the angel down for a cuddle and a nap in a _CrowleyandAziraphale_ shaped lump. The rest of it could wait.


	2. Flying Without Wings (Is A Pain in the Pinfeathers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale pass the time on a flight to Iceland and are generally ridiculous about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like this will have 2 more chapters as these two do not want to do anything but snuggle and make cow eyes at one another. There is absolutely no plot here, only fluff and banter.

Crowley knew the flight was going to be interesting when Aziraphale took the complimentary glass of champagne and tossed it back like it was a shot of cheap vodka. He had then proceeded to visibly huff with the air steward when they asked him to put his book bag at his feet instead of on his lap. The thing was clamped between the angel’s legs as if it might grow legs itself and make a run for it. 

Crowley had made sure that they were conveniently upgraded to First Class, thinking it wouldn’t be so bad if they could stretch out a little and get away from the hoards. Aziraphale hadn’t even put up a token complaint, yet he was perched upright like an awkward, ruffled bird. Crowley had convinced the attendant to bring him several bottles of wine from the duty free before they had even taken off, one of which the angel was half way through without even a ‘fancy a glass my dear?’ Crowley miracled up one anyway and helped himself. 

Twenty minutes later there was an empty bottle. Aziraphale, however, hadn’t relaxed an inch beyond reaching for a second bottle.

“Alright, much as I enjoy a holiday piss-up, what is the matter angel?”

Aziraphale was thinking about deflecting for a moment – it was all over his face – but then he sighed.

“I hate these horrid machines.”

Crowley nodded and filled him a glass in encouragement, mentally patting himself on the back for being what Women’s Weekly had termed a ‘supportive partner’. It seemed to be working.  
“Honestly! We’re in a metal tube going much, much too fast, and I don’t even have the assurance that you are driving!”

“I knew you appreciated my driving angel!” Aziraphale ignored him.

“Hurtling along, relying on the skill of an over-tired human – I mean, they’re very creative, but really. And the air quality in here is dreadful, it’ll be a complete nightmare for my books, not to mention my clothes and skin.” 

He was enjoying himself now. There was nothing Aziraphale liked better sometimes than a good moan; you just had to give him the go ahead. Provided it wasn’t him Aziraphale was moaning about, Crowley was always entertained.

He snapped a nice protective bubble around the book bag.

“There. Now you can unclench. I’ll give your clothes a check over later.” He dropped his voice and started to grin. “And as for your lovely skin…”

Aziraphale flushed but he looked pleased.

“I may just hold you to that.” He wiggled back in his seat and then winced. “If I get rid of this blasted headache.”

“Might wanna hold off on the wine there angel.”

“No, it’s all the people, dear boy. Crammed into a small space like this, it’s hard to block them out – all their emotions and surface thoughts. It is quieter up here – and thank you for that darling – but there’s this great big buzz going on behind and it’s getting right on my wick.”

“As long as they’re not getting on your-" 

“Crowley!”

Crowley cackled. He appeared to summon an attendant out of the ether with a tray of fancy sandwiches, fruit and pastries, then snapped a soundproof bubble around them both.

“Oh! Oh, thank you my dear, that’s much better.” 

Aziraphale wiggled back in the seat, which had acquired a few more pillows in a suspicious pattern. He didn’t mention the fact that no one else seemed to have any food. Crowley just looked smug.

“Get stuck in then.”

His angel didn’t need to be told twice. Crowley contented himself with the ritual of watching Aziraphale enjoy his food in their quiet little bubble punctuated only by soft sighs and moans of gustatory delight. When pressed he nibbled a bit on a madeleine but passed on the grapes. It seemed a bit of overkill, munching on grapes while drinking down their fermented cousins, though Aziraphale didn’t appear to have an issue. Crowley knew he was doing that ridiculous besotted stare thing but the glasses helped, and fuck it, after six thousand years a demon was entitled to be a bit ridiculous when he no longer had to hide it.

When the tray began to look a bit sparse and the angel was down to picking at the leftovers Crowley reached into his jacket and pulled out his next surprise.  
“Wipe those sticky fingers, angel. Got something for you.”

At the sight of the three books in Crowley’s hand Aziraphale vanished the tray and reached out to pull the offerings towards himself a bit like a small child being given a gift.

“Oh Crowley! What are these?” And there was that smile. Luminous was probably the right word but Crowley could only think 'gorgeous'.

“They’re bloody books, angel. Thought by now you’d recognize a book when you see it.”

The flippant comment didn’t even get a glance. Aziraphale had pulled his ludicrous – nifty! – glasses on to inspect the volumes.

“Few travel guides, that’s all. So you can plan our little holiday and forget about being in a metal tube piloted by humans.” Aziraphale hummed and began to page carefully through the first one. “There’s an older one – 18th century or some such – about some bloke’s travel round the island. And a newer travel guide with a food section, thought you might appreciate that. Oh, and one with lots of pictures, that one’s so I can look at it.”

“Crowley I know very well you can read.” Aziraphale looked delighted, though, the sparkle in his eyes soft and indulgent.

“Can. Just don’t.” Crowley grinned. They’d been having this argument for nearly three hundred years now.

“Then how did you know what these were about, hmm?”

“Glory of the internet, angel!”

Aziraphale was shaking his head with that same fond look. Crowley couldn’t quite believe it was for him.

“Well, thank you darling. It’s a short trip but I expect I can get through most of it.”

A soft, well-manicured hand that Crowley knew as well as his own reached over and gave a brief squeeze before returning to the first book. Crowley settled himself back in the chair and prepared to nap as it looked like the angel was all set for a reading session. But just as he’d squished his pillow into shape Aziraphale paused.

“Oh, but I should really be going over the materials I brought to make sure we’re prepared.”

Crowley sighed.

“Plenty of time for that later. It’ll be a day or two before we get to the right place, and I know what I’m doing anyway. There’s no need to fret, love.”

“I rather think I can’t help it. Especially when it comes to you, you old serpent.”

Crowley was absolutely not going to tear up; he hadn’t drank nearly enough for that nonsense.

“Well this old serpent needs a nap, so budge over. You’re going to read me to sleep and I’m not listening to the droning of some old grimoire.”

Their seats miraculously merged and Crowley re-settled his pillow across Aziraphale’s lap, keeping one eye open to catch sight of the inevitable eye-roll – he’d taught the angel that.  
Aziraphale wiggled into a better position. It wasn’t their bed or even the bookshop sofa, but Crowley couldn’t imagine being more comfortable. That was, until he felt something soft and warm (and very likely bloody tartan) being draped over him. There was a tingle of angelic power and the blanket warmed a little more. Crowley did a happy wiggle of his own.

“Just so you don’t get cold, dear boy.”

He found he couldn’t remember the meaning of the word as his angel began to read, a low and precise cadence no less wondrous for being utterly familiar. He rather hoped the flight lasted longer than scheduled.

**Author's Note:**

> All offerings gratefully received (especially cake). Be gentle for I am small and tired.
> 
> Come say hi on twitter (@ObscureEthereal) or tumblr (@fantasticallyobscure).


End file.
